


Limits

by concavepatterns



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, shirtless Oliver will be the death of Felicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:32:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concavepatterns/pseuds/concavepatterns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Felicity is irritated and Oliver is oblivious.  Frankly, there’s only so much a girl can take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this on FF.net for a while so you may have read this before. Nevertheless, feedback is appreciated. Enjoy!

Oliver averages approximately ten pull-ups per minute.

Felicity knows this because she’s done the math in an attempt to distract herself from the fact that his preferred pull-up location of choice is the exposed ceiling beam directly behind her computer desk.

Four times a week, his wide muscular back is directly overhead and it’s really grating on her last nerve.

So when Oliver hits the mid-point of his workout, where he’s sweating and grunting and breathing hard in a way that makes Felicity think thoughts that are _so_ not appropriate, she curls her fingers over the space bar of her keyboard and forces herself to calm down. Think happy thoughts, like shiny new hard drives.

It’s incredibly irritating. All his testosterone seems to weigh down the air around her until it’s hard to breathe, and she thinks that she finally has a grip on it until Diggle walks in and offers to have a sparring session with Oliver. The mere thought alone puts Felicity over the edge.

She slams her palms down on the desk, “Okay! You have _got_ to quit this!”

She spins around in her chair and gives Oliver her sternest IT-girl stare, the one she usually reserves for work hours when some slimy executive brings her a fried computer that’s been the victim of a shady porn site virus.

Poor Diggle looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He only just walked in and has no idea what set her off. She makes a mental note to bring him some apology donuts tomorrow. She’s sorry he got caught in the cross-fire of her internal war with Oliver’s constant state of near nakedness.

“You can’t just prance around here shirtless all the time.” She’s interrupted by Diggle’s snort of laughter, probably due to the fact that she just used the word ‘prance’ to describe Oliver. “It’s unprofessional. You’re my _boss._ How would you like it if I started strutting around here topless, huh?” She fires the question at Oliver, who has dropped from his ceiling beam and is currently toweling off beside her, still sans shirt.

Oliver stares at her for a minute before making a small strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“You know, I think I forgot something in the car. I’ll be back later...” Diggle is still trying to stifle his laughter as he retreats to the stairs “...much later.”

Felicity hears the heavy door slam shut behind John as she continues to glare at Oliver expectantly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Felicity.” Oliver frowns, leaning against the edge of her desk, “What exactly is the problem?”

With him leaning so close and Felicity still seated, her face is literally inches from his glistening abs. Yep, they are seriously _glistening_ after his workout. She wonders if he’s doing this on purpose because no one can possibly be so oblivious, right? But then again, this is Oliver Queen. The man is a walking, talking enigma.

“Forget it.” She waves her hand dismissively, trying not to stare as a bead of sweat rolls down his abs. She wonders what it would be like to lean in and catch it with her tongue.

Oh God, she did not just think that!

Felicity whirls around in her chair so quickly that the movement rustles the papers on her desk. She busies herself with opening and closing various computer programs while willing her cheeks to stop burning.

“You ok?” Oliver’s hand lands heavily on her shoulder and her whole arm tingles at the contact, “You look a little flushed.”

“Fine! I’m fine.” Her voice is a whole octave higher than normal. Damn Oliver, that beautiful idiot.

“You know, my offer still stands.” Oliver says gently.

The tone of his voice makes Felicity turn back around to face him, momentarily forgetting her earlier embarrassment.

He must see the confusion on her face because he continues, “If you need to tell someone about your day, I’ll always listen. And if something is bothering you, don’t be afraid to tell me. I’ll fix it.”

There is such conviction in his voice that Felicity is certain he would literally do anything she asked of him. It’s a powerful, scary kind of feeling to realize that she has this dangerous and commanding man wrapped around her finger, so to speak, but at the same time it gives her the warm-and-fuzzies inside. There’s the enigma at work.

She pastes a thin smile on her face and thanks him for the offer but he really won’t be of much help to her, considering how he’s the problem.

“Why, what did I do?” Oliver crouches down in front of her chair so he’s level with her, concern burning in his eyes.

Oops, apparently she said that last part out loud.

“It’s just...it’s very distracting when you’re always training without a shirt on.” Felicity squeezes her eyes shut and prays that the ground will open up and swallow her. She’s had a lot of babbling, foot-in-mouth situations with Oliver before, but she’s never so openly admitted her attraction to him. It’s kind of mortifying.

Oliver’s stormy blue eyes flick upwards to meet hers. “Why?”

Why?

_Why?!_

God, he’s even more dense than she thought.

Suppressing the urge to scream and wave her arms at him, Felicity takes a deep breath and explains in her sweetest, softest, you’re-being-an-idiot voice, “Oliver, you’re a man. I’m a woman. Regardless of the fact that you’re my boss and my friend, certain, um, _things_ are going to make me uncomfortable. It’s just human nature.” She’s quite proud of how professional she sounds. Clinical, even.

“Oh.” Oliver nods once and stands from his crouched position in front of her. “So you want me to put a shirt on now?”

Felicity takes a long minute to admire his broad chest before answering in a small voice, “yes.” She frowns when the word comes out all high and squeaky again, making it sound like a question.

The corner of Oliver’s mouth lifts up into a half-smile, “That didn’t sound very definitive. What’s your answer, Felicity?” He steps closer until his leg is brushing the arm of her chair. He smells of sweat and leather and she honestly has to squeeze her legs together because between his voice and that scent, her body is going totally haywire.

Stupid traitorous hormones.

“Oliver.” She puts all her exasperation into that one word and it makes her sound like a whiny, petulant kid but she doesn’t really care. In fact, she thinks she’s entitled to some whining by now.

“Felicity.” He replies in an even tone.

She thinks she sees a teasing smile flicker across his face but it disappears too soon for her to be certain and is replaced by his usual impassive expression.

“Stand up.” He says suddenly.

She does so without asking why because she doesn’t know how much longer she can continue to sit and be eye level with his six pack (actually, now that she’s studied it up close it’s really more like an eight pack, if that’s even possible).

As it turns out, standing is not better than sitting.

Standing means that she’s stuck with her butt pressed into the desk behind her and Oliver’s tall form just inches in front of her.

“Oh boy.” She breathes, putting a shaky hand on the frame of her glasses to push them up from where they’ve slid down her nose.

When she tries to lower her arm, she realizes that there’s nowhere to put it. Oliver’s standing too close. She lets it hang in the air for a moment, feeling utterly and completely awkward, until she finally brings it down to rest hesitantly on Oliver’s bare chest, just over his heart beat.

He inhales sharply and when Felicity finally gains enough courage to meet his gaze, she sees a dark look of desire in his eyes.

Someone pinch her. This must be a dream.

“Oliver?” Her voice is just as hesitant as her hand was.

“I understand.” Oliver says. His voice is low and gruff and Felicity recognizes it as his rarely used ‘I’m-about-to-admit-something-personal’ tone.

Beneath her fingertips, she feels his heart pick up speed.

“I understand your frustration because I feel it too.” He continues, eyes never leaving her face, “Do you have any idea how crazy you make me? I get no relief. You’re here every day with your rambling stories and bright lipstick and gorgeous smiles. Then even when you’re not here, you’re still here.” He taps a finger against his temple and gives her a rueful smile.

It takes Felicity a few moments to form a coherent sentence after that. She swallows to wet her suddenly dry throat before replying, “So for months we’ve been driving each other nuts without realizing it?”

Oliver shakes his head and brings his hands to rest gently on her hips, “You were always a dead giveaway.” There’s a teasing note in his voice that makes Felicity grin up at him.

“Yeah, the whole ‘no brain-to-mouth filter’ thing kind of screwed me.” The warm weight of his hands feels really nice and she’s surprised by how easily she’s relaxed against him. “Wait a minute,” Felicity gives Oliver a fake-stern glare, “Does that mean you’ve purposely been going shirtless this whole time because you knew how it affected me?”

“I figured it was only fair. It’s all I can do to stop at just a friendly smile or touch when you’re near me. I have limits.” Oliver says seriously, “There’s only so much a guy can take.”

Felicity can’t help but laugh, “I know exactly what you mean.” She’s smiling so widely that it feels like her face might split in two.

Oliver Queen has feelings for her.

_Oliver Queen_ has FEELINGS for _her_!

She could say it a hundred times over and it would still feel just as fresh and exciting.

“So you aren’t going to cover up, huh?” She asks, letting her index finger trace over a particularly prominent scar on his chest.

“Nope,” Oliver replies immediately. “Unless you really do want me to,” he adds in a low voice that’s all concerned and protective and has Felicity’s stomach doing flips.

“Nah, I’m good. Good with you. Shirtless, I mean.” She shook her head a little, hoping her thoughts would somehow fall into an order that actually made sense. “Just know that the next time I babble and wind up saying something totally inappropriate, it will all be your fault. I blame your lack of shirt for every stupid future thing I say.” She declares.

Oliver chuckles, “Okay, I accept responsibility for every stupid future thing you say, except none of it is stupid. It’s charming.”

Felicity rolls her eyes, “That’s sweet. Totally untrue, but sweet.”

“So can I kiss you now?” Oliver asks, raising one of his hands from her hip to her face where he cups her cheek. There’s such a hopeful, boyish look on his face that Felicity can’t hold back any longer. She’s hit her limit.

Instead of answering, she stands up on her tip-toes and presses her lips to his. He responds immediately, deepening the kiss and stealing the air from her lungs.

As Felicity runs her hands down Oliver’s bare back, she thinks that she was a fool for ever complaining about his lack of clothing, because shirtless Oliver is completely and unequivocally _awesome_.

 


End file.
